


The Words of a Man Who's Spent a Little Too Much Time Alone

by just_another_exhausted_fangirl



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Child Abandonment, F/M, Gwen and Merlin are best friends, Hurt/Comfort, I'm not kidding, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, It's basically a cluster of angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 08:43:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9540245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_another_exhausted_fangirl/pseuds/just_another_exhausted_fangirl
Summary: (Slow updates bc I'm busy)After a very rough childhood, Merlin finally starts to live a sort-of-normal life. But just when things start to look up, he gets struck with yet another blow of fate and spirals down into old habits.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work was _highly_ inspired by [this fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2000385/chapters/4334436) by [Polomonkey](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Polomonkey/pseuds/Polomonkey). Check it out!

At night, when Merlin feels like he can’t breathe because the darkness is swallowing his lungs and heart, he clutches his pillow, looks up at the wainscoted ceiling and counts down from 100.

Gaius doesn’t know. Gaius doesn’t see well enough anymore to notice the blue-purple bruises that cover the twelve-years-old’s arms, and Merlin doesn’t tell. He keeps his mouth shut and his emotions under lock and key. He’s teacher scolds him to stop being so mean to other children. He can’t help it.

His mother Hunith was put into rehab several times, while Merlin would live with his uncle in Ealdor, but as soon as she was released, she would start using again, ending up on the living room floor at three in the morning, eyes turned back into her head, a relaxed smile on her face and a trail of blood down her forearm.

Merlin would grab her shoulders and shake her, trying to get her to wake from her drug-induced sleep, but she would just order him to leave and “play or something” – if she woke up at all.

In times like these, the raven-haired boy would run across half the village to Will’s or Gaius’, searching their kitchen cabinets for something edible. Will, who’s one year older than him, would scold him to be quiet, but he not once did he tell him to go away. Gaius would give him cookies and apples, have that worried, sad look on his face, send an ambulance to his sister’s flat and walk him home.

And one night, he didn’t send him back.

Merlin visited a shrink for about half a year and then, everything seemed to be back in order.

Except, Gaius doesn’t know. Not about his nightly panic attacks and the sudden feeling to be surrounded by cotton, nor that he beats up younger kids on the way home. Merlin doesn’t know why he does that, why it seems to give a strange feeling of control, a calm that hugging his pillow doesn’t come close to. He threatens them not to tell anyone, but it’s not like they would anyway. He’s not very intimidating to them, and he knows that. That’s why they don’t sneak – they want to take revenge themselves. For them, it’s just a game. They attack him in packs and kick him until he wheezes for air or wets himself. But the next day, he’ll still wait for one of them behind a dumpster.

He’s often tried to get some love from his mother; hugged her when she was cleaning the kitchen or trying to kiss her cheek when she was crying, but she’d always push him away, until he didn’t want closeness anymore, until a cold anger filled his mind and every heartbeat felt like painful drum.

When someone, that is Gaius or the school nurse, tries to touch him now, he shies away. Their attempts to console him feel alien. He hates their touches. They’re too close, _always too close_.

* * *

 

It’s two years later in July when Gaius passes away. Although he’s quite old, it’s unexpected. He hasn’t been weak or ill, and the effects it has on Merlin are devastating.

Merlin comes home from school at three in the afternoon and the old man’s bedroom door is still closed and the fear that bubbles up in his stomach feels like an explosion. He opens the door but remains outside the room.

“Gaius?” he calls hesitantly and doesn’t dare to move. Moving might cause his clothes to rustle, and then he could miss his uncle’s answer. When there’s no response, he walks into the kitchen to cook himself dinner.

He’s sitting in front of his geometry homework, head in hands. His teacher has threatened to have a very serious talk with him if he turns up without it, but his fingers tremble too much to hold a pen and he’s too busy trying not to think about Gaius’ lifeless body in the other room to focus on circles and squares.

He calls Will in the middle of the night when his limbs feel oddly cold and foreign and because he feels like he can’t breathe.

“Merlin, it’s _two a.m.…_ ”

“Please. I don’t know what to do.”

“Alright, but get to the point. I’m fuckin’ tired.” Others would’ve probably thought of Will as rude, but Merlin has always valued his straight-forwardness.

“Gaius is dead.”

Will’s arrives twenty minutes later, panting and sweating from running. He calls the police; he holds Merlin as he blankly stares at the ambulance driving away, body rigid and eyes dry; he helps him to apply for the right foster family project while Merlin is chewing on his nails.

People in suits collect him and his few belongings. They tell him that everything is going to be alright, that things will pass, but he doesn’t believe them.

* * *

 

Three years later, when Merlin has just turned fifteen, a family living in Camelot stoops to taking him in – and it’s a weird one. There’s the father, Aredian, a stern man who works all the time, his wife Morgause with a warm smile on her lips but a hand quick to punish, their adopted son Mordred and their biological daughter Eira. They all don’t seem to like Merlin very much, but he gets used to their glares quickly and learns to lock his room at night after Mordred wants to have sex with him two weeks after he’s moved in.  
    His bedroom is sparsely furnished; there’s his bed, a small desk with chair, his wardrobe and a stained carpet. _A reflection of my soul_ , he thinks with a bitter smile when he first properly looks at it.

He never loses contact to Will – not really. They write back and forth every two weeks or so, but his friend now lives in London and helps out in his mother’s shop, so they don’t really see each other anymore. He tells Merlin about his girlfriend and about his new friends – and Merlin finds himself looking less and less forward to their conversations.

After changing schools, he stops with the fighting, but he still gets so _angry_ sometimes. Unlike to when he was younger, he manages to keep it inside with the help of any drug he can get his hands on, until at some point it turns into sadness. Then, he tends to lie in his room, stare at the wall and try to forget his mother’s judging face. “Do you want to become like me, Merlin? Do you really want to be like the person you hate most?”  
    He doesn’t care about her – he has no idea, where she is or if she’s even still alive. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t care, _I don’t care_. It’s what he tells himself every night before going to bed and every morning after waking up. _She doesn’t deserve your worry._

* * *

 

One day during lunch break, a pretty girl with wonderfully kind eyes and hair so curly it reminds him of the turbulent sea approaches him shyly and asks if the seat next to him is already taken. Her name is Gwen and she becomes Merlin’s first friend after Will. They date for a while, but he soon realizes that women are not really his area and they decide to stay friends. Not once does she ask about why he doesn’t want to hold hands, or why he pushes her away when she gets too close. She just accepts it.

He invites her home one day, not thinking anything by it, but as soon as they’ve spent five minutes there, she urges him to go somewhere else. They end up in a deserted park in the middle of nowhere.

“Do they always look at you like that?”

Merlin shrugs. “We don’t like each other very much.”

“Are you adopted?” she asks carefully, this being the first time she’s asked him anything personal about himself. She usually tends to fill the silence with pointless banter.

“No, no!” he immediately says. “They’re just my foster family. As soon as I’m eighteen, I’m out of there.”

Her face suddenly turns very sad. “If you don’t mind me asking, where are your parents?”

He feels rage rising in his throat and his nails dig into his palms. “My mother doesn’t care and my dad ran off before I was born, so…”

Gwen resists the urge of hugging him because she knows how much he despises it.

“Do they hit you?”

“No,” Merlin lies, and she sees right through it, “They usually do their best to ignore me. Mordred likes to touch my crotch a lot. I think, he’s into me.” He tried for a grin but it quickly melts from his face when he notices the tear tracks on his friend’s face.

“That’s _horrible_ , Merlin. You need to talk to your counsellor about this.” She grabs his hand and squeezes it, hard. _I can’t_ , he wants to say, but the words get stuck behind the lump in his throat. Gwen’s hand warm and her eyes are so soft yet so angry. She starts rubbing the back of his hand with the pad of her thumb in circular motions, a calm rhythm, like ocean waves. He stares at the movement, a feeling of loneliness so painful in his chest that he wants to scream.

“Merlin?” Gwen says and frowns. “You’re crying.”

Merlin touches his cheeks and flinches at the wetness. He hasn’t wept in years – he usually pushes the tears deep, deep down and focuses on his bedroom wall.

And suddenly, he’s pulled into a tight embrace. He buries his face in the crook of her neck and waits until the tears cease. For some reason, her hug doesn’t feel disgusting. He never, ever wants to leave this nice warm place.

A few weeks later, he sits in his room, lonely, empty, exhausted. His finger hovers over the call button next to Gwen’s name. He presses it, then panics and cancels the call. As he repeats this process a few times, nearly getting a panic attack every time, he realises how hopeless this is. He won’t be able to bring himself to reach out to her. So he grabs the syringe under his mattress and fills it. The vein seems to be pulsating blue and desperate, in tune with his ragged breaths. _This is it._

But he wakes up in hospital. Gwen’s sleeping on the chair next to him, the room is white and his vision blurry. He promises her never to do drugs again, but he knows he’s probably lying. The feeling of guilt that’s been growing in his chest ever since that day seems to be a fair price to pay for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for any mistakes and errors that may occur, English isn't my first language and I'm still learning. Also, this is all unbeta'd. I am my own editor and that is never a good idea, I guess.


	2. Chapter 2

He finishes high school with bad grades, but he still manages to get a job at the local store where Mordred works. At first, there’s only lustful glances and nothing more, but one day, Mordred tackles him to the store’s toilet wall and starts kissing him violently, ignoring Merlin’s muffled protests.

“I know you want me,” he whispers while gently caressing Merlin’s upper thigh. Merlin freezes for a second, mind completely blank. His body is so stiff that he can't even seem to be able to move a finger and the other man's fingers leave a burning hot trail on his skin. When he finally gets a grip again, he punches Mordred so hard in his chest that he ends up on the floor, gasping for breath, tears streaming down his cheeks and fury in his eyes.

Merlin gets fired the next day. He calls Gwen, who’s working on her college degree, and tells her what happened. She offers to come over, voice thick with angry tears.

But only a week later he already finds work again in a bakery. Early mornings and a big-hearted, chubby boss called Mary now rule his day-to-day life. Mary’s a wonderful person. She doesn’t ask questions about the bruises on his arms or the days when he can’t come to work because he can’t feel his body, she only demands that when he comes, he’s punctual, hard-working and sober. And it’s her that tells him about a cheap apartment near the shop that a friend of her owns. He moves in soon after, barely able to afford it, but at least he doesn’t have to lock his bedroom door anymore, at least he doesn’t have to slap away Mordred’s hands anymore.

He keeps everything neat and tidy, but the two rooms seem bare and naked. He has no clue how to decorate, but then he remembers Gaius’ flat – the rosemary and lavender hanging from the wall and cupboards and the colourful curtains. In the beginning, the smells hurt his nose, and he screams himself awake in the middle of the night, but soon it starts to feel like home.

Although his skin isn’t crawling anymore, staying away from drugs seems to be getting harder and harder. Every now and then, his mother’s face pops up in his mind and he has to top up, he _has to_ , and he desperately hopes that Gwen would understand and forgive him. She _would_ , right?

In autumn, he’s just turned twenty, Gwen decides that enough’s enough.  
    “You’re spending too much time on your own. You only ever talk to me, Lance and Mary; where’s that going to lead? I have a few friends – they’re wonderful and lovely and you’ll fit right in!”

“Do you mean _the_ friends?” It's about the five hundredth time that Gwen makes him this offer. He knows about Morgana and a bloke called Arthur that she used to fancy.

He protests, he yells at her to leave, but she doesn’t even blink. She gently grabs him by the wrist, sits him down on the sofa and lets him cry out on her shoulder.

“It’s a film night at Morgana’s. Merlin, _please_.” And so, he complies.

Morgana turns out to be a very beautiful woman with long black curls and light green eyes. Her flat is huge and probably pretty expensive. He can see why they decided to do it at her place. Gwen and he are the first to arrive. Morgana shakes his hand and invites him in with a charming smile, and Merlin feels weird. He doesn’t belong here. Gwen and Morgana joyfully chatter away so, so he just sits on the edge of the couch, awkwardly knitting his fingers and trying not to look grumpy. ‘This is a mistake,’ he thinks, shoulders tense.

When Morgana disappears to answer the door, Gwen turns to face him and bites her bottom lip. “I’m sorry about not involving you in the conversation.”

“S’alright,” he replies with a shrug, because it really is, “I didn’t know what to say anyway.” She smiles sadly and lightly squeezes his hand.

A few men enter the room and hug Gwen with a big grin on their faces.

“Who’s this, then?” a man with long hair asks and stares at Merlin.

“That’s Merlin. He’s a good friend from high school.” Upon his wish, she’s never told any of the others about him. He doesn’t want them asking questions.

The man introduces himself as Gwaine. His handshake is firm and he seems very self-confident. There’s also Lance, whom Merlin hasn’t seen in ages, and a tall, muscular fellow called Percy.

“Arthur, Elyan and Leon are coming later,” Percy says and sits down next to Lance, while Gwaine settles himself on the same couch as Merlin, a beer in his hands and a smug smile on his lips. Damnit.

“So, what do you do, Merlin?” he asks with genuine interest. Merlin is lost for words and maybe a bit scared because there are so many people and they are all so nice. There’s a lump in his throat again, but he manages to speak past it.

“I, uh, work in a bakery,” he hears himself say. Making conversation is weird. He’s only ever properly done it with Lance and, of course, Gwen, Gaius and Will, but the other man doesn’t seem to be bothered by his stuttering.

“Really? That sounds… early.”

“Well, you get used to it,” Merlin replies and _grins_. Yes, this is him _grinning,_ like a little boy – for the first time in months. Talking to Gwaine is easy, effortless almost.

“I work as a photographer for the Local Newspaper,” he says, but before he can add anything else, the doorbell buzzes again. In walk Gwen’s brother Elyan, a nice-looking, bearded man with long-ish light brown hair and… Oh.

The blond man with suit and tie – probably coming straight from work – is _gorgeous_. His short hair just about falls over his eyebrows. His eyes are bluer than Merlin ever would’ve thought possible, and his smile when he hugs Morgana fills up the whole room.

Merlin blushes and swiftly lowers his gaze. This isn’t normal. This isn’t supposed to happen.

Gwen explains that his name is Arthur, he's Morgana’s half-brother, and the one with the scruffy beard is called Leon. When she notices Merlin’s strange behaviour, she can’t repress a chuckle. “He’s a workaholic,” she warns him, and Merlin glares at her.

“I think we both know that I lack the sex appeal _and also_ the courage to ask him out,” he replies. Gwen just shakes her head, still smiling.

"You're very pretty," she giggles, and he raises an eyebrow.

" _Pretty_?"

But he can’t help shooting glances at Arthur whenever he gets the chance – which isn’t a lot, because, somehow, Gwen and Gwaine keep him entangled in odd yet interesting conversations. At the end of the evening, he hasn’t even shaken the blond’s hand. Admittedly, he’s a bit disappointed by him. He loves to hear himself talk and won’t stop going on about his tyrant of a father. Morgana rolls her eyes at him every now and then and keeps handing out tiny self-made dough snails.

Everyone except for Gwen, Arthur and Merlin leave at about one a.m. The two women are talking and doing the washing-up. Both men have offered their help but been declined with knowing looks and snickered excuses, so they are practically forced to make conversation – something Merlin wants to avoid at all costs. He tries to concentrate on the book about coffee beans that’s lying on the table, but Arthur, a little tipsy, gets up from his seat and sits down next to him.

“So, you’re Merlin, right?” His smile is genuine and all teeth, but the raven-haired man doesn’t trust him. He knows blokes like him. Spoiled brats, the lot of them. He remains silent, but his pretend-reading is getting pathetic.

“I’m Arthur,” Arthur says, not at all fazed, and offers a handshake. “I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier. You didn’t seem too comfortable, so I thought I’d leave you to yourself- or, well, Gwaine."

For the first time since the start of their chat, Merlin looks up, trying to conceal his surprise. This goes against everything he’s initially thought of him. And so, although he feels weird doing it, he shakes Arthur’s hand. His grip is firm and warm and he still feels his skin burning on his own like old coal when they’ve separated.

But before they can talk any more, Gwen yawns audibly and declares that she wants to go home now. And because he doesn’t necessarily want to stay there on his own, Merlin grabs their coats.

Before he leaves, Morgana hugs him, and although it’s only been a quick embrace, his entire body stiffens. Because he isn’t hugging back, it’s over instantly; Morgana draws back, her eyes widened apologetically and her brows furrowed. Arthur just waves from the living room, still with the grin from before.

Gwen accompanies him to the front door of his flat. “I hate these stairs,” she manages to say, completely out of breath. Merlin’s hands shake too much to open the door and his vision is starting to get blurry with anger and panic, so she insists on staying the night.

She makes him tea while he’s counting down from 100, trying to get back to normal, trying to calm down. He doesn’t touch his tea, lets it get cold, but it doesn’t matter because the whistling of the kettle and the homely smell have calmed him down enough to form words.

“I like your friends,” he mumbles.

“Maybe they’re also _your_ friends now.”

“I don’t think they like me very much.”

“Yes, they do,” she insists and pours the contents of his mug down the drain. “Morgana told me so herself. In the kitchen.”

Merlin shakes his head. “They won’t like,” he vaguely gestures at himself, “ _this_.”

“They won’t care. They’re not like the arseholes at school.”

* * *

 

He gets ripped from his sleep with a jolt and a small cry, body and sheets drenched in sweat. He struggles out of the covers he’s slung around himself like a cocoon and stumbles into the bathroom. He can’t remember clearly what he’s dreamt, but Arthur has been in it and he doesn’t like that.

“Forget him.” It’s a desperate whisper directed at himself, while he’s clutching the edges of the sink. He isn’t, nor has he ever been, ready for a relationship – and Arthur wouldn’t like him when he’s like this.

There’s a gentle knock on the door. “Are you okay?” Gwen whispers.

“M’fine,” he replies, “just a nightmare.”

She goes back into the living room and a few seconds later, he dares to leave the bathroom.


	3. Chapter 3

Gwen’s already gone when he wakes up the next morning, but she’s left him hot tea. He warms his hands on the cup and then waters his cactus with it.

He sets out to get some groceries – bread, toilet paper, nothing exciting. Normally, he can’t afford to go to Waitrose, but today he makes an exception because Gwen’s birthday is in a week, and that one t-shirt she really liked is only being sold there.

And – surprise, surprise – as he’s skimming through the never-ending lady clothes, a familiar voice behind him chuckles, “You’re in the wrong section, _Mer_ lin.”

He jumps, and when he turns around, he spots Arthur leaning against a white pillar, wearing a comfy sweater and some washed-out jeans – and fuck, he’s hot. The blush creeps on his cheeks before he can help it.

“It’s for Gwen,” he replies bashfully and turns back to the clothes rack.

“Is it that one?” Arthur’s holding _the t-shirt he’s been looking for_.

“How did you know--“

“She mentions it all the time,” the blond god replies and winks. There’s a sting of jealousy in Merlin’s chest but he scolds himself. _She’s got other friends too._

He nods a thanks and wants to walk away, but Arthur steps into his way. “Hey, uhm. I wanted to know, if you- would you like to meet up sometime?”

Merlin’s blush becomes more intense and he’s about to shake his head when he reconsiders. _This is your chance._ Gwen’s voice is awfully strict, as he reckons it would be if she were here.

“Yeah, alright.” The words slip out without his permission, certainly, but not without relief. His legs suddenly carry him out of the shop, paying is more of a throwing-money-onto-the-counter-business, completely forgetting about exchanging numbers, completely forgetting how human interaction works. Inexplicable panic radiates in his chest and he doesn’t dare to look over his shoulder.

He’s out of breath when he arrives home; red cheeks and shiny face he jumps into the shower and pinches the skin on his arms to calm down. When all the overwhelming feelings finally cease, he thinks about Arthur and his blue eyes, how his rare smile shines like the sun and his how voice sounds so…

He blinks and realizes that he’s violently scratching the two pink scars on his hip, now reddening, aching. He still remembers Cenred’s voice, clear as water.

_“Looking at my cock all the time, aren’t you, fag?” He pulls out a knife (where did it come from? Why has he taken it with him in the first place?), tries to stab him, misses twice – his heart anyway._

It is the only experience he’s ever had with homophobia but it sure has been enough for a lifetime.

Even though Gwen’s voice tells him not to, right now he wants nothing more than to feel the soothing warmth of anything he can get his hands on under his pale skin and in his veins. He groans and leans against the cold bathroom door. Even without concentrating too much, he can definitely feel a needle piercing his lower arm, close to the wrist, right where the small light brown spots are, where he used to--

He’s well aware of the effects that drugs have on addicts and he doesn’t desire to go there at all, but it had vaporized all unpleasant memories, and that’s all he wants right now. He doesn’t care for the high, he just doesn’t want to deal with his mother, Gaius’ dead body or Mordred’s hands right now.

_Give me bliss. For a few hours, I will be free._

With frantic movements, not caring how many bottles, tubes and toiletries he sends flying to the floor, he grabs a bottle of cough syrup containing Codein.

And then, as he’s unscrewing the cap, the sound of his phone ringing echoes from the tiles. He nearly drops it, manages to put it on the sink and, still breathing erratically, picks up.

“Hello?” He tries his best to sound calm.

“Hi, it’s Arthur.”

_No. No no no no, that is just what I needed..._

“H-How did you get this number?” His voice keeps getting raspier with every word and he’s pretty sure Arthur can feel his panic through both their mobiles. His fingernails dig into his palm.

“I got it from Gwen, since you just ran off” he replies, “Have you been exercising? You sound quite… out of breath.”

_Oh, yeah. Gwen._

“Yeah,” he lies. “I like to keep fit.” The words sound weird coming from his mouth. He’s never, ever done any kind of exercise before – except at school where had to, of course.

And then he notices how his rapid heart rate isn’t slowing down, how it keeps pounding in his ears and he starts to feel dizzy. Without any further warning, he hangs up, cutting off Arthur’s “Merlin?”. He has to hold onto the kitchen counter not to fall over and closes his eyes, a desperate but feeble attempt to quiet the storm in his head.

When the nausea is gone and he’s able to get up from the floor (When has he fallen? He can’t remember), he fills the kettle with hot water and sets it on the cooker. The water boils, the kettle screams like a bird would if it were to sit in its place and he pours himself a cuppa.

Just as the homely smell mixes in with the lavender, someone – probably Gwen with her spare key – unlocks the front door. Perhaps she’s forgotten something, so he doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound, but she notices him anyway.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, biting her bottom lip with a frown.

“Nothing,” he replies courtly.

“You never make tea when you’re alright.” Then, with a hesitant gesture, she lays her arm around his shoulders and confesses, “Arthur called.”

Merlin pulls back, sits up straight and glares at her, unsure how to react.

“Did he, now?” Mad? Disappointed? Betrayed? He can’t decide.

“Well, he was quite right to, wasn’t he? I can see from miles away how shitty you’re feeling.”

He opens his mouth to snap something at her, let his anger – yes, it’s definitely _anger_ now – roam free, smash his cup, throw her out, drink that cough syrup that he left in the bathroom sink--

And then, suddenly, all that’s left is fatigue. He slumps back into his chair and absently stares at his thighs. Thinking about Arthur makes him want to cry. He’s in over his head.

“What’s wrong with me, Gwen?” he whispers and dries his damp cheeks with the sleeve of his jumper. She gently caresses his shoulder with her thumb.

“Maybe, you should see someone about… all of this, Merlin,” she tries warily. Never in all the years of their friendship has she brought that up, hiding it wisely under her tongue and swallowing it back down every time it tried to see the light of day. They’ve been unspoken words until now, but they have been palpable every time she’s been comforting him, as they both know that he needs help.

“Can’t afford it. I can barely afford this flat. You know Mary’s friend is giving me a special deal.” He licks his lips nervously. “And I don’t want to go.”

Gwen’s phone starts vibrating, traveling over the table towards the edge.

**Arthur calling.**

“Why does he care so much?”

“Ask him yourself,” she replies with an unreadable smile and picks up. “I’m there, Art, calm down. No, not at all.” She turns to Merlin. “He wants to talk to you.”

He shakes his head and whispers, “I wouldn’t know what to tell him,” before lowering his gaze back to his legs. Gwen nods understanding.

“I don’t think he wants to. Yeah, maybe, wait.” She turns back to Merlin. “Can I tell him he’s allowed to text you?”

He sighs. An “Alright” slips past his lips without permission, burning an angry hole into his tongue on the way out.

When Gwen hangs up, he’s clutching the edges of the table, knuckles white as snow. She grabs his hands and slowly loosens his fingers from the old wood.

“I’m so tired, Gwen,” he tells her, voice shaking slightly. “I can still feel Mordred’s hands, I can’t—” A sob breaks from his chest and she squeezes him tighter.

“I can’t be- I’m not good enough to help, Merls. You need someone else, someone with… training. Please.”

He feels the rage scratching at his sanity again, tingling in his veins, making him feel lightheaded. Gwen notices and asks, “Should I make some more tea—”

“Shut up!” he yells and slams the table with his flat hand, causing her to jump. He can see on her face how she’s struggling to make a decision – should she stay with him or leave him, risking him to get hurt?

“Go,” he snarls, not looking at her, “I’ll be fine.”

“Well, that just settled it. I’ll call Lance, alright?” When he doesn’t reply, she dials.

* * *

 

Ten minutes later, a very distressed Lance bursts into Merlin’s tiny flat. After quickly checking on his girlfriend, he walks over to Merlin who’s currently sitting on his bed, a pale, shaking figure, shoulders heaving with almost inaudible sobs, head in hands. He has a seat next to him and hands him a packet of Neurexan, the only thing the pharmacist would sell him over the counter.

“They’re not very strong, but they’ll help,” he says softly. The raven-haired man lifts his gaze, gratitude flashing on his face for a moment before his features fall back into their grim, sad state. He takes two of the pills and swallows them dry.

“Talk to me.”

There’s a pained expression on Merlin’s tear-wet face. “About what?”

“Whatever’s on your mind. Arthur. Mordred. I don’t care.”

Merlin doesn’t question his friend’s extended knowledge of his past nor does he blame Gwen for telling him. Dealing with him can’t be easy. He doesn’t realise saying that last sentence out loud until Lance replies, “No, of course it isn’t. it never is; dealing with anyone is hard, to be honest. But you can get better. And as I know Art, he’s a very patient man. He’ll be able to,” he pauses and rolls his eyes before reluctantly continuing, “ _deal with you_. At least you’re not drunk and flirting all the time like Gwaine.”

“Is that what he likes to do?” A smile has crept on Merlin’s lips and immediately, the room seems a little brighter. He likes Gwaine.

“It’s all he does,” Gwen moans and appears in the doorway, indecisively playing with the belt of her dress.

Merlin unlocks his phone. There’s a message from Arthur, but he doesn’t dare to read it, so he hands it to Gwen. She takes it, glad to be able to be of help, reads it and then hands it back to its owner. “It’s safe,” she smiles.

**Hi Merlin, this is Arthr.**  
**Im rly sorry if ive said something that upste you at the shop or on the phone. I didnt mean to i promisw. Let me make it up to you? ;) (I wasnt sure whether to include thatt winky face or not)**

“He wants a date,” Merlin comments dryly, marvelling at how someone could make this many mistakes in such a short message. “Why would he want a date… with _me_?”

Gwen sits down next to him, feigning being offended. “Hey, I’m your ex, remember?” Lance chuckles and she tries to hit him, but since Merlin’s in the way, she ends up falling over and lying flat on her back on Merlin’s bed.

 **Ok, 4pm at the polony?** , he types while he absent-mindedly scratches the scars on his hip.

The Polony Café is a small shop in a side alley. Its interior is lit with fairy lights and candles and it’s painfully corny, according to Gwen, but Merlin loves being there. The light isn’t too bright, there are never a lot of people and it feels like _magic_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uhm, there's been this mystery in my life as of late (and by late I mean the last twelve months)...  
> There's this user called LogicalChocolate who reads all the same fics as I do. Every time I click on something I think I might like, they've already been there and kudos'd it.  
> Hi, if you're reading this! Please contact me! I love you!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that the updates are coming so slow... I keep using the excuse that I'm busy and, believe it or not, that is the actual, sole reason.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading anyway! I feel so honoured :)

At ten past four, Merlin arrives at the café, out of breath and a sweaty mess from running. Arthur’s sitting at a table in the very back of the room, nose buried in a magazine. He _is_ gorgeous, Merlin realises and feels his cheeks heat up before he can control his silly pining. He orders a redeye and makes the blond jump by sitting down across from him without a warning.

“Hi.” Arthur smiles warmly and Merlin nods.

“What do you want?” That sounds so much harsher than intended and he sees Arthur being taken aback by the cold in his voice. He doesn’t know it’s not directed at him, but more at Merlin himself.

“I wanted to apologise properly, you know, in person,” he says, looking straight into Merlin’s eyes. There’s no hint of the previous winky face now and Merlin is thankful for that. Apparently, Arthur knows when it’s time to be serious. “I was wrong to pressure you, or to make fun of you… Being perceptive isn’t really a strength of mine.” Merlin begs to differ.

“Well, I haven’t killed you yet, so you can assume you’re forgiven.”

“Are you alright now?” Arthur leans forward and looks at him closer.

“Of course,” he replies and hides his face behind his mug, ignoring the painful sting in his heart area. Lying is something he’s very bad at.

Nevertheless, Arthur’s eyes soften and he absently drums his fingers on the table. He seems to be gathering courage and finally asks, “Would you like to do this again? I, uhm, would like to get to know you a bit better. Although you’re Gwen’s best friend, I haven’t even heard your name before Morgana’s party. And I’ve known Gwen for ages.”

_Good. So she really hasn’t told anyone about me, just as I asked her to._

Merlin fixes his eyes on the table, not wanting to agree, yet not wanting to disagree either. He’s just human – he needs more people in his life, he needs closeness, even though he doesn’t like to admit that. He often finds himself hugging his chest when he wakes up at night, a cold, desperate feeling in his chest, his fingers clutching his pyjama. But at the same time, he’s reluctant to burden other people with- well, himself. His addiction, his anger and all those other things are not something he’s keen to share with anyone. Even Arthur.

“Yes, we could do that” he sputters, a blush spreading on his cheeks, immediately regretting his answer. “I mean, I- I’ll have to think about it.”

And Arthur smiles that smile again and Merlin’s heart melts.

“Thank you.”

* * *

 

He tells Gwen via text how it went and she encourages him to let him in.

**It’s just Art, he’s a great guy. So lovely**

But he doesn’t write said man on Sunday. Instead, he spends his day watching Doctor Who, doing his very best to forget about the cough syrup in the drug cabinet.

On Monday, work comes as a welcome distraction. Mary’s kind heart and happy words never fail to brighten his day.

She seems different though. “I’ve got a really bad headache at the moment. Like a migraine but without the weird spotty vision I usually get with it. Sorry if I won’t be able to concentrate very well, dear.”

It’s ten thirty when a familiar woman enters the bakery. Merlin immediately stiffens and his hands start to tremble violently, but Morgause hasn’t noticed him yet.

_Nothing to worry about. She’s just going to give you a glare and then probably flee the shop_.

He turns around and searches the baking room for Mary, but she’s nowhere to be seen. Great. When his former foster mother finally turns around and looks at him, her features harden and her eyes turn ice cold.

“Merlin,” she greets him dryly.

“What do you want?” he spits, suddenly oddly sure that she’s not here by accident. Anger wells up in him, hot and cold, and his mind and body desire nothing more than to scream his throat dry and bash her head in with the chair next to him.

Luckily, at the exact moment that he grabs the backrest, Mary steps into the room. One look from Merlin, a desperate silent conversation, and she nods, letting him run into the back room. He’s never realized how much their distaste towards him had actually bothered him, until now – because now, its effects hit him with full force. He flees into the restroom, making his way past freshly-baked bread and still warm muffins. His breaths are ragged, the room’s spinning, adrenalin and, at the same time, tiredness pump through his veins. When pinching his skin doesn’t help, he tries splashing cold water in his face, but, as it turns out, neither does that.

Mary knocks on the door and asks him in a worried tone whether he’s alright.

“I’ll be out in a minute.” Her soft voice instantly manages to calm his rage and he wonders for the thousandth time in his life why he feels like he needs to go through all of this on his own.

“You should go home,” she suggests, but, still through a closed door, he protests.

“And do what? Sit around doing nothing? No, here is better.”

So he stays – way too long. At nine, when he can eventually bring himself to go home, because there is really no more work to possibly needing to be done, there’s a text from Will on his phone.

**Dude, how r u? Long time no texting. Me and Sally have moved a bit closer, we should meet up sometime**

But Merlin doesn’t want to _meet up_. Will would bring Sally and he’d be the third wheel, as usual. It’s true, Will has done a lot for him all throughout his childhood, but they’ve grown apart over the last few years and, being completely honest, he’s scared of seeing him again. He’s facing his past enough in his nightmares.

**Sry, rly busy atm**

* * *

 

The week passes without any more incidents of that kind. So on Friday, he decides to write Arthur.

**Hi it’s Merlin**  
**There’s a charlie chaplin film in the cinema 2night, wanna go?**

He’s always thought of Arthur as a bloke who’s constantly got his phone on loud and this proves to be true when the immediate reply comes.

**Yeah!!!!!**

Although he feels incredibly weird doing it, he turns up at the local cinema at eight. Arthur’s already there.

“Thank you for giving me a second chance,” he says. Merlin smiles. He doesn’t yet understand why, but the clouds from Morgause’s visit have lifted, gone with Arthur’s presence.

‘Maybe all of this isn’t _too_ bad,’ he thinks to himself.

They buy two tickets for the seats at the very back of the room for some privacy, but when they walk through the never-ending rows of red seats, they realize that it was all in vain because no one has had the same plan as them.

“I don’t understand. Why _wouldn’t_ you want to watch Modern Times?” Arthur exclaims and props his feet on the back rest of the seat in front of him. They eventually decide to move to the middle, each using up two seats for their jackets and bags. Merlin hasn’t felt this relaxed in days and he feels tears pricking the back of his eyes.

The film starts, bathing the hall in a cold, white flickering light. Merlin sinks into the soft seat feeling as though his back and legs are being swallowed by the cushion – and before he can realize how tired he is, he’s fallen asleep, fifteen minutes into the film.

He dreams of Charlie Chaplin in a clown mask pulling his hair and wakes with a jolt in a particularly loud scene, gasping a loud lungful of air.

Arthur’s staring at him, his lips curved into a perfect grin, all teeth and happiness. “Is this your usual bedtime?” he chuckles. Merlin hits him half-heartedly and the blond feigns great pain. When he looks back at the screen, the credits are already rolling.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” he shouts, wide-eyed and a bit upset. _I slept through my date_.

“You looked very peaceful. And, uhm, you were leaning on my shoulder, so…” Arthur admits, making no attempt to get up and leave even though the lights have come on. Merlin grumbles something, beet red, and makes an attempt to pack his things, but the other grabs his wrist.

“Let’s stay here a little longer.” There’s something odd in his voice and for some reason, Merlin’s heartbeat quickens. Every fibre in his body is screaming at him to run, to escape this horrible nightmare, and he doesn’t even know why.

“I’m sorry you had to pay for that… uhm, turns out, you had to watch it pretty much on your own—“

“That’s not what—Please, just give me a few more minutes?” he begs, obviously very nervous. His eyes keep darting to the ground and around the room, just not the raven-haired man’s face.

“What happened when I called you that day?”

Merlin freezes; unable to answer he remains as he was, standing in the middle of the cinema, a slight tremor taking over his hands. For the millionth time he wishes for nothing more than to be a better liar.

Arthur stands up, too. “When I called Gwen and told her about how weird you had sounded, she got so worried. I thought from her reaction that you were dying or something.” He pauses for a moment, concern and fear naked on his face. He falters. “You weren’t… You’re not dying, are you? Or sick?”

Merlin just about supresses a laugh of relief. _He’s completely on the wrong track_ , he thinks and replies, “No, I’m not dying, don’t worry.”

There is a second where Arthur’s face softens, where he seems to be satisfied with the answer he’s gotten, but, unfortunately, it’s only brief. “So you’re not gonna tell me what happened, then?”

Merlin hesitates. Maybe he should. Maybe it would be liberating. But that weakness only lasts short and he closes himself off again – as he’s used to, because it’s comfortable. He shakes his head, chocked up, fingers tight around the band of his bag. He’s itching under Arthur’s stare; he wants nothing more than to go home. But, simultaneously, he doesn’t want to ruin everything either, so he doesn't run this time.

They leave the cinema in an awkward silence, so much so that the cashier glares at them with pursed lips and furrowed eyebrows.

“I’m sorry I asked. That was inappropriate.”

Merlin sighs. “Don’t apologize. Not your fault I’m so withdrawn sometimes.”

“You’re not,” Arthur chuckles and checks the sign at the bus stop. “That’s me.” He sounds almost regretful.

Merlin nods. “I’ll walk,” he says. And when he turns around, suddenly, Arthur’s arms are around him, warm and firm and _right_.

“I had a nice time,” he smiles, “We’ll have to do this again – somewhere you don’t pass out on me.” Merlin’s cheeks flush and he’s grateful for the darkness.

“Okay.”

* * *

 

They decide to meet again in a week’s time and go their separate ways, Arthur giddy and Merlin unsure what to do with himself. He likes Arthur – he _really_ likes him – but he’s scared of the consequences. This is nice; meeting with him and having fun together is something he can handle, but anything that’s more than this will, without a doubt, cause him trouble. So, in the yellow light of the street lamps, under the starry sky of Camelot, he makes an oath: _I will not become Arthur Pendragon’s boyfriend._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, but here it is; chapter five!

~~~~The week doesn’t go well for Merlin.

On Saturday, he locks himself in his small apartment, phone turned off, face buried in his pillow, his fists clenching the sheets.

_Arthur wouldn’t be able to deal with this._

On Sunday, he calls Gwen and asks her for some company.

“Oh, luv, I’m with some friends – but do come over!”

He wouldn’t normally do this but the world is spinning out of its sockets and every now and then, fear explodes in him like fire, so he decides to accept the invitation.

But when he arrives at her flat and rings the funny-sounding doorbell, he’s not so sure about his choice anymore. Other people. Glances. Questions. He swallows dry and is about to turn around and leave when Lance opens the door.

“Merlin!” He looks sincerely happy and Merlin furrows his brows. “So glad you’re here!” Then, in a lower voice, “It’s only Morgana, Gwaine and Leon that are here. No strangers. And they’ve had some drinks, so they won’t be too curious. I hope.”

Merlin steps into the yellow hallway and, while taking off his shoes and jacket, he can hear laughter and chatting coming from the living room. He hasn’t been at Gwen’s flat in ages, and three quick, unpleasant flashbacks make their way into his mind every time he blinks.

_He’s heaving into the kitchen sink. Gwen is rubbing his back with one hand while wiping his forehead with the other, clearing it from cold sweat._

Blink.

_Gwen is screaming on the phone at her brother Elyan for skipping her father’s funeral while he’s desperately trying to focus on James Corden on TV. The presenter’s ranting about noses and the young man really tries to listen to him but instead, Gwen’s desperation vibrates with every atom in the room._

Blink.

_Gwen gets a nosebleed. When the first crimson drop hits the floor, she transforms into his mother, and her squeal into a scream. He recoils, breaths suddenly ragged. “Go away,” he croaks out, before he has to close his eyes because the light is too bright and he feels like he’s constantly falling backwards._

He gets pulled back into reality when Gwen hugs him. “I’m sorry, but I really couldn’t just leave here,” she whispers, biting her bottom lip – and just like that, he forgives her. Gwaine is the first to notice him and jumps to his feet.

“Well look who decided to join us!” he exclaims and grins. Morgana is wearing a dress without looking overdressed – somehow – and Leon waves a hello, half-asleep.

Merlin sits down on the ground because there are no more chairs, and sips on a gin tonic. While observing the people in the room more closely, he notices how cheerful and carefree they all are. They have problems too, and there’s no way of telling how many and how grave, but this here, this little community, seems to mend them. Something loosens in his chest, a small smile appears on his lips and Gwen beams.

On Monday evening, Will writes him again but Merlin once again ignores his attempts to contact him. He’s lacking the patience for anything from his past at the moment, and he despises himself for being so cruel. He hopes his old friend understands and desperately wishes Gwen would be there, with her gentle hands and soft eyes.

On Tuesday, Mary doesn’t appear to work. He calls her but it goes straight to voicemail. Her rosy apron hangs lonely on the green door which leads to the back room, ready to be picked up, to be covered in flour and sweet goodness. There’s a sudden pit in his stomach; a black hole, impossible to ignore.

He stays in the shop for a few more hours, though he leaves the closed-sign up, unable to let himself think the worst. At ten o’clock, Mary's husband turns up, eyes red-rimmed and glassy, and Merlin knows it’s bad. Apparently, the poor woman has been rushed to hospital tonight – brain tumour. She will have to close the bakery – at least temporarily, but he suspects that it will be for good.

He wants to go home, he craves the familiar walls of his flat, but his body doesn’t follow his orders; his feet have grown roots deep into the ground. Mary's husband immediately returns to his wife after the message is delivered, leaving Merlin alone with his thoughts.

He stays in the same position for about an hour, but he has no idea how long exactly, because time lays its hands around his throat and squeezes, hard, until he’s able to free himself with a bloodcurdling scream.

People start peeking through the blinds, wondering why their favourite bakery is still closed, but they can’t see anyone inside because Merlin has stumbled into the back room, a numbness spreading throughout his body his mind is blank with sadness and anger. No matter where he looks, everything reminds him of the kind-hearted woman and it’s driving him insane.

_Merlin, this is my humble paradise._

_Merlin, I’ll show you, it’s so easy._

_Merlin, would you be a love and get me some salad from the supermarket?_

_Merlin, I need you to go home today, you look terrible._

_Merlin, my friend’s renting a flat. She’ll give you a low price if I talk to her, promise._

He breaks the pots, rips the bread to shreds, kicks the flour bags until they explode into puffy clouds. But even when the whole room looks like a battlefield and his hands bleed from the porcelain slivers he’s accidently touched, the hole isn’t gone and the world keeps on turning.

Eventually, he returns home. There’s another text on his phone, asking him if he’s alright and why he isn’t replying. When Merlin ignores it, he feels like he needs to vomit. Eventually, he throws up into the toilet and feels so weak afterwards that he falls asleep on the couch.

He wakes with a twitch, searching his hip for blood until he realizes that it’s just been a dream. For a wonderful innocent moment he wonders why he’s not in bed and why it’s dark outside, but then the previous events crush him like a ton of bricks.

He notices the steady buzz of his phone, probably what has woken him up in the first place, and immediately picks up.

“Good evening, Merlin.” Her voice feels like home. “I’m so sorry about the drama. I wanted to tell you personally, but at least I’m doing it now, right?” She laughs a bit but it sounds sad and _wrong_.

“Tell me what?” he croaks.

“I’m dying, Merlin. There’s nothing they can do.”

“No.”

“I should’ve listened to you when I had all those headaches and felt dizzy, I’m _so sorry_ …”

“No!”

There’s a short silence at the other end, then she whispers, “I want to see you, Merlin.”

“I can’t. Don’t ask that of me.”

“Please,” she begs, and there’s a desperation in her voice as he’s never heard from anyone before, “one last time.”

“Don’t leave me. Not you too.” Sobs break from his chest and his whole body starts shaking with fear and _This is not fair_.

“Merlin.” She explains to him where the hospital is and how to find her room. He’s reluctant to go, but even with all his anger, he can’t bring himself to deny his dying friend’s wish. He promises to turn up the following day.

* * *

 

The cough syrup burns in his throat – not because it’s disgusting, but because of the guilt. But he needs to get away, no matter where _away_ might be. The unsettling, sweaty high of the way too sweet drug will do. He wraps himself into a soft, warm cocoon of sheets and sits down on the floor, gaze fixed on the lavender on the wall in front of him.

_Gaius’ corpse lying in his bed._

He supresses a sob, shakes his head to get rid of the flashback and wraps himself into a ball. Suddenly, something stabs his chest with brutal force. His heart and lungs scream, the world collapses and the fabric absorbs his tears until they cease. His phone buzzes from time to time until he sets it to flight mode.

On Wednesday, he wakes up when the sun tickles his nose. Will’s written him five texts last night, and there’s also one from Gwen.

 **U got my txt, rite?**  
**Stop ignoring me**  
**Merlin cmon dont be a dick**  
**Are u ok?**  
**MERLIN**

**Uhm so Eira said that Godzilla 2 is in cinemas now, we should go watch it! xo**

Merlin groans. He'll have to answer Will’s messages or he’s going to come around checking up on him.

**I told you i’m busy, just gimme a few weeks**

“That should do it,” he mumbles. He wants to tell Gwen, make her come over and find the right words like she always does but suddenly, there’s fear clamping his heart, so he doesn’t.

The cough syrup hasn’t really done anything other than making him fall asleep. He needs to get something stronger somehow, but he’s not at school anymore where there’s a soon-to-be-dealer around every corner.

At eight, he finally leaves the flat and makes his way to the bus station. He’s dizzy and his legs feel weak and he remembers not having eaten or drunk for twenty-four hours, so he grabs a sandwich and a water bottle at the convenience store.

* * *

 

The white hallways seem to suffocate him; he has to hold onto the rail on the wall while walking, like an old man, trying not to fall over – but right now, he feels older than anyone that’s ever lived. Helen’s room – room number 101 – is on floor five. It’s a single one in the palliative care station. Old emaciated people pass him on the way there, no spark in their eyes but a sort of peace etched into all of their wrinkles. They look so much like his mother that it makes him sick. He feels bile rising in his throat and hurries into the next bathroom available – it’s staff only but he couldn’t care less – to vomit his half-digested sandwich into the toilet bowl.

What he doesn’t expect is a hand on his shoulder.

“What’s the matter?” a familiar deep voice asks concerned. Merlin, still hunched over the bowl, tries to wave the nurse away, but he’s persistent.

“Can you stand up for me?”

He rises on shaking legs, taking the offered arm as support. When he finally faces the man next to him, he’s surprised to see Leon.

“Merlin?” Leon doesn’t smile. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting a friend,” he replies, his whole mouth still sore from the stomach acid. Leon’s eyes immediately soften and he attempts to lie his arm around Merlin, but he quickly recoils from his touch.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, silently cursing himself, but Leon doesn’t seem to mind.

“Who is this friend of yours?”

Merlin doesn’t want to tell him, but it seems he’s too exhausted to care because without really desiring to do so, he tells him, “Mary. Room 101.”

“Oh, yes, I know her. _Oh_.” Leon blanches slightly and his eyes say things Merlin can’t comprehend. “Shit, I’m so sorry. I could- if you want me to—“

Merlin vehemently shakes his head. The last thing he needs is someone else in the room with Helen and him. Beads of cold sweat run down his neck and temples. Leon hands him a tissue.

“I know how hard it is. Believe me, I do. If you want to sit down for a moment, maybe drink a cup of tea, I can arrange that for you. We’ve got everything in our office.”

Merlin declines the kind offer; Leon’s words make him feel a bit better, a little more stable. Suddenly, a wish arises in his heart, a desperate wanting for someone to have been there for him like that when Gaius died. There had just been Will. Everyone else’s consoles and faces had just seemed clinical and trained.

Leon only leaves after taking Merlin’s blood pressure to make sure he’s okay – physically at least. It’s way too high but he lets him go anyway.

As soon as the raven-haired man is out of sight, Leon hurries into the office, closes the door behind his back and takes out his mobile after checking left and right for his supervisor. He doesn’t know enough about Merlin to properly help him – or to have his help accepted – but he knows Gwen can. Luckily, she immediately picks up.

“Hello, Leon.” There’s a smile in her voice.

“Hi, Gwen. Listen, I don’t have long. You’re close to Merlin, right?”

“Yeah, I indeed am. Why, is there a problem?” She’s so obviously concerned that Leon wonders, just for a moment, what else has happened to Merlin in the past to make her so cautious.

“You need to make sure he’s looked after,” he tells her firmly.

“I, uh, yes, sure. Why?”

“I can’t say. Just… please, visit him or something?”

Gwen still sounds worried when she promises, “I will, of course I will. Thank you, Leon. Thank you. It means a lot.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I ever mention **_Helen_** anywhere, that's Mary. I accidentally called her Helen in the first draft.

Mary almost looks healthy. It’s only the oxygen tube and the infusion in her arm that betray that image.

“Oh, Merlin,” she breathes and pulls him into an embrace. Normally, he’d pull free and throw her an annoyed glare, but not today. He breaths in her familiar scent and tries to memorise the feeling of her arm on his shoulders, swearing to himself never to forget this last wonderful moment. She thumbs at the wetness on his cheeks.

“You look way worse than me,” she remarks concerned, “Have you been eating enough?” It’s when she starts feeling his ribs that he pulls away. He wants to talk to her, tell her how much she means to him, but he stumbles over his words and she shushes him.

“Sit down, luv. We’ll talk about everything.”

He’s still there when the nurses carry in her lunch on a tray almost three hours later. Saying goodbye is hard; it hurts so much that he’s sure his chest is being crushed, every rib breaking one by one and the coronary arteries around his heart pulling tighter and tighter until it’s unable to beat anymore.

 _We’ll see each other again. Visit me again in a few days_ , she’s repeated over and over and there, being with her, the words have helped, but now that he’s out of the hospital, they feel meaningless.

* * *

 

He arrives home to the smell of tea and warm bread. _Gwen_.

She’s in the kitchen, sitting at the table, the empty bottle of cough syrup in front of her. Merlin’s heart sinks.

“I didn’t—“ But Gwen sees right through his feeble attempts in lying.

“Empty your pockets.” Her voice has lost all of its warmth. He can’t help but to oblige, shrinking under her eyes as if she’s his mother.

He throws the morphine syringe he’s nicked from Helen’s bedside table onto the wooden plate and braces himself for her rage. When nothing happens, he looks up, still cautious.

“What’s happened to you Merlin? You look _terrible_. Have you lost weight?” Her voice stern, but quiet.

“Mary is dying.”

The sentence still hangs in the air long after he’s uttered it, black and thick like poisonous smoke. Gwen bites her lips; unable to find the right words, she remains frozen in her chair. Merlin, knowing what she plans to do next, throws the syringes into her handbag, proud and horribly ashamed that he remembered to hide some in his socks. Gwen, still silent, takes the bread out of the oven and stares at it, guilt and sadness fighting on her face.

“I thought you’d be hungry.”

“So you _made bread_.” Despite after everything that’s happened the young man manages a smile. This whole situation screams Gwen and it warms his heart.

There’s another long silence where they both chew on the soft, steaming goodness.

“Merls, I’m so… if I would’ve known… Why didn’t you call!?” Merlin’s heart clenches again.

“At least I got to say goodbye.”

Gwen looks at him, shocked by the indifference on his face, and says “Merlin—“, but before she can finish, the doorbell buzzes.

“You told Lace?” Merlin snarls, getting angry.

“I had to. I can’t keep _everything_ to myself,” she defends herself and opens the door. Her boyfriend, coming straight from work judging by the suitcase he’s carrying, welcomes her with a quick peck on the cheek but then turns his attention to Merlin who’s staring at him, anger so obvious on his face that he involuntarily flinches.

“Do you still have the Neurexan I gave you?” he asks and grabs a piece of bread. Merlin nods and points at the packaging on the countertop. Lance hands him three and he swallows them dry – even though he doesn’t want to calm down, because the heat in his head is the only thing distracting him from _them_.

When the anger hides itself in the far back of his mind, everything he’s been trying to avoid comes crashing down again, closing over his head, a wave of pure and utter desperation. He feels himself blanch and his knees go weak. He sinks onto the free chair and buries his face in his hands, the urge to cry, but also the lack of being able to, filling him. All he can do is trying to control his breathing which is getting more erratic by the second. Gwen’s by his side immediately but when she tries to pull him into an embrace, he flinches.

“No,” he breathes and she understands. Lance, who’s never witnessed him having a flashback, awkwardly and nervously paces back and forth in the kitchen – at least as much as the tiny space allows him to.

“Should we be calling an ambulance?” Merlin hears him whisper. Gwen must’ve shaken her head, because a second later, “Well, I think we should.”

“We can handle it.”

And she’s right – after a few more minutes, the spinning in his head comes to a halt, his breathing goes back to normal and his heartbeat slows down.

He looks up, looking straight at Gwen. _Why do you put up with me?_ he wants to ask but instead mumbles a “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Merlin, you know that.” Her smile is gentle and he’s choked up because of he feels guilty, but also because he feels at home like never before. She squeezes his hand.

She and Lance stay for a bit longer, but at seven he insists that they go home. He unpacks the six morphine syringes that he’s managed to hide from them – it’s not Eye of the Phoenix but it’ll do – and hides them in his sock drawer, deciding that he won’t be needing them tonight. Instead, he puts on some Doctor Who and falls asleep on the couch.

When he wakes up on Thursday, he feels slightly better. Brave enough even to type _job vacancy bakery_ into the search bar in Google, even though he feels like he’s betraying Mary. He’s looking at the website of a big bakery half an hour away by train when his phone rings. It’s Mary's husband.

Merlin freezes. A coldness has suddenly spread all over his body, blood rushing through his veins like ice. He doesn’t dare to pick up and it goes to answerphone where he explains in a small voice that his wife hasn’t woken up today and that he’s going to sell the bakery.

It is at that moment that Merlin snaps. His mind goes blank and while every single one of his mugs and plates are shattering to a thousand pieces on the kitchen floor he nearly hopes that his neighbours will call the police before remembering that they’re on holiday in Mallorca.

His feet leave bloody traces throughout his flat after he’s walked through shards on the tiles, but he doesn’t really feel it. Ripping the lavender off the walls, he hopes to get rid of Gaius’ kind laughter; the mirror in the bathroom shatters and his fist bleeds. An hour later, his apartment looks like someone’s broken in and destroyed everything in the search for money. He stares at his formerly beautiful home, a sinking feeling in his stomach when he realizes what he’s done. He’ll never be able to replace all of this, not to mention explaining the whole thing to his landlords – and he doesn’t even have a job anymore.

 _I’ve got nothing._ I’m _nothing._

* * *

 

 

The morphine relaxes his muscles and brings peace to his mind – a warm green inviting him in and embedding him into silence. He doesn’t care how hard his bathroom tiles are, sleep is his priority now.

He wakes up on Friday morning because the thoughts and the carousel are back. He devours a frozen bagel and shoots up again, two doses this time.

It’s like he’s swimming. Are his feet moving? Is his cheek pressed against a wall or the floor? It doesn’t matter. Gaius’ face is floating in front of him.

“I missed you,” Merlin says and while his message is carrying so much sorrow he’s still incredibly happy. His uncle cleans up the whole flat until it’s shiny and all new. And when he starts disappearing, Merlin just injects some more morphine. He’s remembering but it’s not painful anymore.

_Bliss._

He’s holding the very last syringe in his hands, rubbing at the caked blood in his arm crease that’s blocking the hole he’s made in his vein. Reopening it hurts so much that he gasps, but there’s no turning back now. It’s already bulging from the times he’s missed and it’s excruciating, like his whole arm has been turned into ice. When he pulls out the needle, blood flows rapidly from the wound and he curses. Hopefully, it won’t wash it all out in an instant.

It doesn’t. But it’s different this time. The high feels odd and uncomfortable. His body seems to be slipping out of its lose skin and his heartbeat pounds in his ears like drums at the carnival. His vision darkens and he sink onto the couch, almost losing consciousness, only keeping himself in reality by concentrating on the now suddenly very present pain in his feet. He remains like this for a long time.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, a very slow update. I want to thank everyone for the lovely comments you've written! I'm moved, honestly :')
> 
> (The typos in A's messages are on purpose. He's not good with phones. I went back and edited the old chapters accordingly. I did this because I'm a good writer and I never ever decide halfway through my stories to change them *cries*)

Arthur’s not an impatient man – or a jealous one, for that matter. But Merlin hasn’t been in touch for nearly a week, even though he's sent him some texts, and he’s getting annoyed. Has he lost interest in him? But then why not call or message him? Ana after spending a while being irritated, worry begins to grow inside him, a dark pit that swallows everything else. So he writes Gwen.

**Hav eu heard somtehing from Merlin?**

But before sending it, he decides to go there himself. This is between Merlin and him.

**Whats Melrins address?**

She replies instantly, as she usually does.

**I cant just give u his address, no one likes that**

**Pleeeaase**

This time, it takes her almost five minutes before replying. He can almost see her in front of him, furrowing her brows and pinching the bridge of her nose in deep consideration.

 **He’ll kill me for this**  
**Towerway 7b**  
**U didn’t get that from me ok**

He "thnaks" her, grabs his jumper and sets off. According to Google Maps, he lives on the other side of Camelot, so he calls a cab. They drive past fields and old-fashioned street lanterns. Here and there, Arthur can spot couples entering and exiting the sparse pubs, and he smiles. Then they enter a livelier part of town where the shops are still open and they have to get through traffic. He’s been here before, but only as a child, because that’s where the fair used to take place before it moved closer to where he lives now. The driver starts humming along to _You’re the Voice_ in the radio, and just for a few minutes, the world seems alright.

“We’ve arrived,” the driver informs him courtly and holds out his hand. Arthur gives him £10, “Keep the change”, and tries to orientate himself. The quickly darkening street is illuminated by the same lanterns he saw on his way here. A yellow 7 is displayed on a tall house. Lucky for him, the front door is not locked, and he can see why when he enters the staircase. It’s so narrow that any burglar would get out of breath before even arriving on the first floor.

He walks up the narrow stairs. As Merlin’s flat is on the second floor, he has to pass a blue door with a paper pinned to it:

 **On holiday somewhere nice.**  
**Cara: Merlin’s taking care of the plants.**  
**Thanks, Merlin. See you soon!**  
**Ralph and Helen**

A smile splits Arthur’s lips. The letter’s only short, but its homely feeling warms his heart.

Merlin’s door is just as lovely. The sky-blue paint is already flaking from the wood and there are lavender caulis hanging from the door handle, bathing the whole floor in a smell that makes him want to close his eyes and fall asleep right there and then.

He presses the doorbell and hears its buzzing echo in the room that lies behind it, but no other sounds follow. No steps coming towards the door, no music or TV, only silence. The door can only be opened with a key, there's no handle.

‘Is he not home?’

Arthur’s about to turn around when he hears a soft whimper coming from the flat. He freezes in his movements and presses his ear against the door, but it's now just as quiet as before. He pinches the bridge of his nose and considers the outcome of him kicking the door in.

Then, concern suddenly starts to take him over again and with a swift but violent movement, the door lies in his way. He almost feels guilty about it, but when he sees the state that Merlin’s flat is in, panic burns in him like an angry animal. It claws at his throat, making him unable to move. He remains frozen in the doorway in shock, thanking every higher power that he entered.

The apartment is a complete mess. His first thought is that this must be a break-in, but it looks too much like a battlefield. Burglars always make sure to leave little to no traces, but this is… harrowing. Complete and utter destruction.

The cupboard doors are open, every single one of them, but all of the mugs, plates and glasses that are supposed to be neatly stacked in there are shattered on the ground, their slivers covering it entirely. Careful not to step on any sharp objects, he walks through the kitchen. The whole flat is eerily quiet.

There’s some blood on the floor and his heart sinks. He climbs over a chair that’s fallen over and looks around the flat in search for the lanky young man. A mug that’s lying on the scratched surface of the kitchen table seems to have previously contained tea – the now lukewarm liquid is slowly dripping onto the floor.

The couch’s back is facing so that’s where Merlin must be. His breath gets caught in his throat as he stumbles towards it, worry tying a tight knot in his throat. Merlin’s body isn’t moving; the only thing indicating that he’s still alive is the slow expanding and contracting of his ribcage. His eyes aren't moving under closed lids – he seems completely dead.

Flashes of memories from his first aid course that he had to take pop up in Arthur’s mind, but his body is stiff and his hands won’t move. The irrational fear possesses him that if he looks away from Merlin’s chest for a mere second, he might stop breathing.

Eventually, eyes still fixed on the man before him, he kneels down in front of him and lightly shakes him by his shoulder. Every cell in his body is screaming to do it harder, to shout _Merlin_ as loud as he can, but he still feels paralyzed.

Arthur’s face turns almost as wanly as Merlin’s when he notices the blood. He hasn’t seen it before because there isn’t a lot of it – some on his feet and hands, and some--

He shudders. A thin trail of crimson caked on a pale forearm, and it says more than enough. As anger bubbles up in his stomach – _drugs!?_ – there is also something deeper, older, that makes his vision go dark and his mind spin and his limbs uncomfortably cold. Suddenly, each breath takes effort and there are sounds in his head, noises from long ago, announcing worse to come. His heartbeat is drumming in his ears and he blindly reaches for something to hold on to while fighting for the ability to breathe normally.

And then, just as fast as it’s come, the panic attack is gone. And Merlin’s still there, a figure draped over the couch like dead prey.

His gaze falls on the syringe lying shattered on the ground. How long has this been going on? He doesn’t really know him, but from what he can imagine life hasn’t been easy on the young man. All that said, this is still no means of escape. He dials 999 but just as he’s about to call, Merlin mumbles something incoherent and slowly opens his eyes.

“-s happening?” His voice is thick and tremulous, disturbing the silence that Arthur hasn't dared to break. The initial wave of concern is replaced by one of nausea so violent that he feels like he feels he’ll puke if he’d move position. Heat rises in his cheeks from the feeling of having intruded his friend’s personal space, _him_ , a mere acquaintance.

Merlin doesn’t seem to be understanding the gravity of his situation. He's staring at the horrified blond man crouching before him, a content smile on his lips, eyes glazed over with dreams and an alarmingly pallid face.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, “there’s so much light in your eyes.” It’s then that life returns into Arthur’s limbs. He has no idea what to do in these kinds of situations. He brings his hand closer to the raven-haired man’s head as if to touch his cheek, but quickly retracts it, coming to his senses. Not glued to the slightly blood-stained floor anymore, he rises after what feels like an eternity. He decides to call the one person he hopes will know what to do – Gwen.

“Art?” She sounds breathless. He hears Lance in the background – _C’mon, hang up!_ – a grin tangible in his voice.

 _Oh._ He shakes his head. Now’s not the time for being polite.

“Merlin—“ He’s unable to continue, suddenly choked up.

Gwen doesn’t answer immediately. He can’t even hear her breathing anymore. Then, in a demanding voice, “Tell me.”

Arthur starts stammering, gaze settled on Merlin, who is trying to get into a sitting position. “I don’t – He took something, I think.” But he doesn’t think, he knows. There is poison in their friend’s bloodstream and he can do nothing about it.

There’s clear anxiety in Lance’s muffled “What’s happened?” before Gwen shushes him.

“Art, I need you to do what I tell you to, okay?”

He nods.

“Arthur?”

“Yes.” It comes out hoarse.

She lets out a breath, trying to keep herself together, he can tell. “Is he breathing?”

“Yes, he’s sitting up now. Why did he do that, Gwen? Why did he take—“

“No time to waste now. He’s probably… You need to check his pulse. If it’s over 120 or under 60 we can’t handle it on our own, understood?” She speaks to him slowly, like she would to a child.

He counts the weak pressure waves against his middle and index finger for a whole minute. He knows about the fifteen seconds rule but he doesn’t trust anything under a minute, because it could stop, could become weaker and he wouldn’t know. He has to recount three times, every time because Merlin pulls his wrist away.

Arthur puts the phone back to his ear. “120.”

He hears Lance, who’s the one holding Gwen’s mobile now, swear. There’s a faint motor noise in the backgrund. Gwen must be driving.

“We’ll be right there, okay? Try getting some water into him, alright?” Then he hangs up.

Arthur obeys. He slowly feels like he’s gaining control of the situation. Merlin rubs his eyes and yawns.

“I want to go back to sleep.” He sounds surprisingly clear.

“Merlin, do you know what day it is?”

“Friday.” Merlin’s head snaps up, and he stares straight into Arthur’s face. “Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life's been a bitch lately. I'm working on the next chapter, but I don't know when it's gonna be ready. It's not abandoned though! I love these two idiots too much to leave this fic without a proper ending.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while! Thank you for waiting so patiently for the next chapter :)
> 
>  
> 
> I was too lazy to spell-check it, so there may be some mistakes.

He hasn't looked at Arthur or said a word in over five minutes. Arthur has put a glass of water beside him, which he's ignored. Merlin's sitting with his back to him, chest slowly rising and falling. From time to time, there's a faint sob, silenced by the sleeves of his jumper.

Arthur reaches out to touch his shoulder, but as soon as his fingers make contact with the purple fabric, the younger man twitches away.

"Sorry," the blond mumbles. He feels helpless again, not knowing how to reach him or make him feel better.

"I'm the one who should be sorry." There's no more sadness in Merlin's voice. He turns around slowly, knees still drawn to his chest, but at least they're face to face now. "I fucked up our date by doing the stupidest thing ever. I didn't plan--"

"I know you didn't." He stops for a moment, reassembling his thoughts. "Why drugs? Why would you… I don't understand!"

Merlin's face darkens. "Why are you still here?"

 _Because I love you._  

"Because I don't trust you to be on your own right now." It's not what he's intended to say, and he regrets it as soon as the words leave his lips.

The doorbell buzzes and Lance and Gwen rush into the room. Lance is in his boxer briefs and a dirty t-shirt while Gwen is fully dressed. They're both pale.

Gwen is the first to arrive at the couch and grabs Merlin's shoulders. No one is prepared for the volume of her voice.

"MERLIN EMRYS! HOW DARE YOU BREAK YOUR PROMISE!? I WORRY, YOU KNOW!? YOU MOTHERF--"

But Lance's hand on her flailing arm is enough to make her stop. Some tears have escaped her eyes, staining her jacket.

Her boyfriend walks over to the raven-haired man, who has shrunk to the size of a child, a stern expression on his face. "Where's the rest?"

"There is no rest!!" Merlin's scream is almost as loud as Gwen's, but it sounds almost terrified.

Arthur feels as if a knife has stabbed him in the chest as he watches the exchange between his friends - he doesn't belong here; this feels like a private situation and he doesn't know Merlin well enough y-

"Arthur."

How long has Lance been looking at him?

"Arthur, do you need to leave?"

Arthur shakes his head, "No, no, I'm fine," but his voice is shaking and his hands are trembling. He hides the in the pockets of his jeans.

To his surprise, Merlin gets up and walks up to him, putting a hand on his shoulder as if Arthur's the one who this is all about. "I think you should go home. I'll be fine, I promise. Gwen is," he makes a grimace, "taking care of me." His voice is normal again, strong, as if nothing's happened. Arthur realises that he probably had to do this a lot when he was younger - pretending that nothing's happened.

* * *

 

As soon as Arthur has left, Gwen starts taking Merlin's flat apart. She looks everywhere for more syringes - under his bed, inside the blankets, pillows and cushions, in shoes, clothes and every single bowl he owns until she's satisfied.

Lance has gone home a while ago, because he has to get up early tomorrow, so it's just Gwen and Merlin. They're silent. And so is the rest of the world.

"Three in the morning is a weird time, don't you think?" Her voice is soft. "You could be the only person left in the world and you wouldn't even know."

A car drives by and they snicker.

"I'm sorry, Gwen. I'm trying to change, I really am. But it's not that easy."

She lays her arm around his shoulders and he allows it.

"Merlin, I've been making some calls," she admits. "There's a clinic a few towns over. Your insurance would pay, they have free rooms and a garden with beautiful plants in spring. It's perfect."

Merlin doesn't answer. There's a huge lump in his throat, preventing him from talking and he feels powerless.

Gwen sighs, but it doesn't sound sad. "You didn't say No."

He shrugs.

A few hours later, they've fallen asleep on the couch, Merlin's head resting on the head cushions while Gwen's is warming his shoulder.

* * *

 

They're suddenly awoken by a call from Merlin's phone. The sun is heating up the floor and the shards lying around everywhere, specks of dust dancing in its rays.

"Yes?" He tries his best to let his voice sound awake and not like he's dealing with a huge headache and nausea.

"Good afternoon, Merlin. It's Richard." _Mary's husband._ "I know it's a bit inappropriate of me to call you so soon after--"

"No, not at all," Merlin interrupts him, not wanting to hear anything else.

"Anyway, as you know, Mary has… Mary's had a lot of friends. Fellow bakers. I've been speaking to some of them and… well, some of them could use the extra help, if you know what I mean."

Merlin sobs.

Richard sounds shocked and hastens to add, "I'm so sorry, I didn't-"

"Richard!" He shouts, while happiness seems to be seeping from his every pore. "Richard, are you serious!?"

"Of course I am!" He goes on to telling him all the names and phone numbers, and Merlin can't stop crying.

Even though there's this small feeling of betraying Mary in the back of his mind, he vows to himself that he will be calling every single one of these women.  
Gwen's smile is so wide that it could rival the sun.

"I'll help you clean up."

And so they do. By the time they've thrown out every shard from the mirror and dishes and vacuumed the whole place, he feels better. It's as if a piece of his heart has been mended.

"I'm going home now," Gwen declares, as she stares proudly at the clean flat, broom in hand.

"I'm going to the shops now." There is nothing left in his cupboards and the thought of spending money on cups and plates already fills him with dread because he knows that there's not a lot of money left in his bank account.

"It'll be fine," Gwen smiles and hands him a £20-note. "Birthday gift."

Merlin doesn't close his hand around it, confusion furrowing his brows. "But it's not my birthday."

"It's mine though."

His eyes widen and he suddenly remembers the t-shirt hidden in his drawer. "Fuck, Gwen, I completely forgot-"

He hurries into his bedroom and almost tears the present open while trying to get it out from under his jumpers. Gwen's followed him, curiously looking over his shoulder.

"You got something for me?" She sounds astounded. "In spite of everything?"

"Happy birthday."

Lips slightly parted, Gwen unpacks the yellow piece of clothing with black bees and plants on it and lets out a squeal.

"Is that the one from Waitrose!? The one I showed you?" She presses it against her chest, as if making sure it's really there. "Oh, Merlin!" She exclaims after he's nodded. "You're amazing!"

"Arthur nearly bought it for you as well," he says with a grin on his face, "but I was faster."

It's not quite the truth and his cheeks flush a bit when he thinks back at his and Arthur's second meeting.

"You have to write him," she says.

After he's hugged her goodbye, he grabs his phone from the couch. He hasn't seen the five messages from Arthur when Richard had called.

**Good morning!**

**Melrin, its like 12 wake upppp**

**Helllo**

**How aer you?**

**I'm sorry for leaving yesterdfay!!**

Guilt makes his stomach drop and he decides to visit the blond man. There's nothing like talking face-to-face.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way too long.  
> I'm so thankful for everyone who's been asking for more!  
> Here is the new chapter, very short bc I really couldn't let this be a draft any longer... I'm so sorry, please forgive me Q-Q

Merlin feels strange while he’s sitting in the back of the cab driving to Arthur’s. It’s like it’s been weeks since they’ve last seen each other, even though it has only been one day. The cab driver keeps trying to start a conversation while Merlin wishes he’d just leave him be.

When they arrive in the town centre of Camelot and the traffic starts getting trickier to get through, he finally shuts up telling him about how much he’s enjoyed last night’s game and Merlin can breathe a sigh of relief.

Camelot has always been full of people, but today seems to be even worse than usual. He stares at the mum catching her child just before it runs into the open street. She looks shocked and angry, but her face softens when the child starts crying. They’re out of sight quickly, but the woman’s dark hair and slender face is imprinted in his mind.

He hasn’t been able to remember Hunith’s face for a long time, and even though the resemblance isn’t extreme, it’s definitely jogged his memory.

But now is not the time, he decides, and shoves the bad memories back to the part of his mind where they’ve come from. It works just about enough for him to concentrate on the road again.

Small rain drops have started blurring the window. He can make out some shops, gardens, a playground, but soon the rain gets so heavy that he has to give up trying to analyse his surroundings. The driver swears a few times, then drives to the edge of the road and stops the engine.

“What’s going on?” Merlin asks, his palms starting to sweat.

“Fuckin’ rain’s too heavy. I’ll crash into something if I drive any longer. We’ll just wait for a few minutes, alright, mate?”

He just nods, pulling out his phone.

**Hey Arthur, I’m on my way to u k?**

The answer comes immediately.

**NOW?? Ok ill claen m ykicthen and stfuff**

He has to read the message twice before understanding it. Is grammar a foreign word to that man!? What a clotpole.

* * *

 

He asks the driver to stop at a bakery near Arthur’s house when the downpour has lessened a bit, and gets out. The rain is still heavy – he’s wet through-and-through as soon as he’s exited the cab – but he doesn’t care. The whole of his attention is on the adorably decorated display window.

He enters the shop and is greeted with a thickly sweet smell. Mary would never have allowed her bakery to smell like this. It’s supposed to smell light, like baked bread, not as if the sugar fairy herself has exploded.

He shakes his head. This is not what he’s here for. He needs food and some new tea cups for his flat. But standing here, he realises that this shop is way too small to also sell dishes – although they do have bread (obviously). He buys two, planning on freezing one, and also purchases some milk and yoghurt. Carrying about three kilos worth of food, feeling like his arms are going to fall off, he eventually continues his way to Arthur’s, regretting every choice that has led him here.

* * *

 

Shortly after he’s rang the doorbell, he can hear Arthur stumbling over something and cursing. He can’t help but to giggle a little, but his momentary joy soon fades back to nervousness. Even though he’s had his whole way to here to think about how he was going to explain everything, his mind is blank and he wants nothing more than to turn around and leave.

But before he gets the chance, the door opens and he finds himself staring into blue eyes.

“Arthur—”

“Come in,” he says and steps aside so Merlin can pass him. There a small beads of sweat on his forehead, probably from cleaning. He enters the flat to a narrow hallway with old-fashioned coat hangers on the wall. The smell of tea and lavender remind him so much of his own home that his eyes get slightly wet, but he blinks the tears away while taking off his shoes.

Arthur passes his with some difficulty and Merlin tries to ignore how their bodies touch. The lack of space and body contact freaks him out, but he concentrates on his breathing and the feeling fades.

“I made tea.” Arthur hands him an old Nintendo cup, the logo nearly washed off. Not wanting to seem weird or rude, he swallows his I don’t like tea and sits down on the incredibly soft couch. Looking around he wonders if this place has ever been dirty at all. It’s so clean that he could probably eat off the floor.

He takes a sip of the bitter-sweet brew and tries to sort the words and sentences in his head. As he’s about to say something, Arthur blurts out: “You don’t have to explain!”

He sits down next to him, carefully keeping his distance. “I know it wasn’t my place to just… break into your flat.” He chuckles softly, but his fingers are fidgeting nervously. “But I don’t regret it. You could be dead, Merlin. Dead!”

Merlin twitches. “I know. But I didn’t do it to die.”

Arthur turns away, staring at the black screen of the turned off TV.

“Please, you have to believe me!”

“The why did you?” he asks, looking at him.

Merlin falters. This can’t be the moment of truth. He’s not ready. So he settles for the middle ground.

“I didn’t have an easy childhood. I used to be addicted to the Eye of the Phoenix. And now that my friend has died, I—”

Arthur’s eyes widen and he swallows visibly. “Your friend died?”

Merlin doesn’t respond. He sets the cup down. “Listen, Arthur; I know we went on those dates and everything, but I’m honestly no fun to be around. I’m a fucking mess. We shouldn’t be in contact anymore.”

Arthur gets up, anger visible on his face. He closes his eyes, breathes in and out, opens them again, fidgets with his fingers. “I think you’re wonderful, Merlin.”

* * *

 

They end up at Polony Café again, hands locked together, Merlin feeling strange but happy, Arthur beaming. The waitress serving them can’t keep the smile off her face seeing them interact with each other in such a loving way.

Merlin is not quite sure what to do or how to act, but Arthur takes the lead. He talks about his own childhood instead of asking about Merlin’s (which would make him uncomfortable). He learns about Arthur’s tyrant of a father, whose you-need-to-act-like-a-man-façade quickly melted when his son revealed his homosexuality to him.

“Neither Morgana nor me would’ve expected that,” Arthur tells him,” we were sure he’d disown me. He’s still an arse, but I think he was just glad I was honest. He doesn’t want me bringing men home, but since I don’t live with him anymore, all is well.”

Merlin doesn’t believe that all is well. He’s sure that there’s pain behind Arthur’s story, even though he’s tried to make it as light-hearted as possible, but he doesn’t ask. When the time comes, he’ll hear about it. He smiles and takes a sip of his coffee.

And then, his fear is gone. The anger that usually constantly scratches against the back of his mind – gone.

Arthur’s lips are on his, reluctant, wordlessly asking for permission. And warm, so warm. The scent of vanilla mixes in with the taste of coffee still on his tongue and he answers by moving in closer.

Breathless, they part. Merlin waits for the flashback and the panic that he thinks is about to follow, but it doesn’t come. Mary’s painful memory is still there, but right now, he’s filled to the brim with excitement, with joy and something that he thinks could be love.

“You’re magical,” Arthur whispers.


End file.
